


Not Just Metaphors, Baby

by Saraste



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 Days of June Fic, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Derek, M/M, Mpreg, Surprise Baby, WAFF, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wakes up, spooning Stiles, his Mate, and finds out something wonderful and new in his scent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Just Metaphors, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Written as ficlet 5/30 of my 30 Days of June Fic self-challenge. Wanted fluff with babehs, the sterek sort wrote itself.

Derek wakes up, spooning Stiles from behind, his nose pressed against Stiles' neck, against his sleep-steady pulse, mind filling with the ripe... his eyes fly open properly, not just lazily half closed, and he leans closer, uses his hand on Stiles' waist to draw him against him. He scents, articulating all the varied nuances which make up Stiles. He almost misses it, it's so subtle, an underlying smell of sweet promise, of a certain kind of ripeness and... His heart skips a beat.

 

There had been stories in his childhood, he still remembers, of an Alpha and their Mate, and their cubs. In those stories, the Mate had not always been female, but the cubs had always, _always_ , been theirs. 

 

He hadn't thought about those stories in a long while, the longest while. Had come to accept that all he would have with Stiles would be Stiles, and any children they might have would be adopted, as they would be unlikely to get accepted for a surrogacy with Derek understandably weary for all the medical examinations it would entail. Derek couldn't risk it, though Stiles could have... They haven't even really talked about it that much, just a brief mention in passing, Stiles always clamming up after he's brought up the subject of children, with a brief longing in his eyes, ever trying to spare Derek's feelings.

 

For Derek had a family and they died. For Derek still has screaming nightmares of reaching for the siblings who... 

 

The pack is there, of course, always underfoot and with cubs on the way now that there's been graduations and marriages, most of them nesting, but they are not the same as having cubs of his own...  _with Stiles_ . Little wee darlings who would have Stiles' core-scent mixed with his own mingled with their core scent, Hale blood running in their veins, and they would be theirs, theirs, theirs.  _Hale blood._ In a way the Pack can never quite be. 

 

His hand slips down in an unconscious gesture and rests where he knows he can't even feel anything, where his Alpha nature has given them this gift, where Stiles has been changed because he's the Alpha's Mate and... Derek's blood runs suddenly cold, for in his elation he has forgotten something integral: he's never told of Stiles of this possibility, of the old tales of his childhood, half-forgotten parts of a childhood which went up in smoke, which he had often thought of as metaphorical at best. Which he remembers now, vividly, delivered in his mothers wonderful story-teller voice, so soft.

 

But there is nothing metaphorical in the cells now dividing inside of Stiles, of his body having accommodated to bear, of his very biological being having changed... Derek  _knows_ how someone bearing a cub, a baby, smells like and Stiles, Stiles is pregnant, Stiles is carrying. 

 

Despite what Stiles may have said before, this is not something... Stiles might not  _want_ this, want to have his body be this way. And Derek hates himself for thinking that, because he shouldn't sell Stiles so short. Yet he feels like he's trapping Stiles, like he's done something unthinkable to him, making him this way, impregnating him. All that without hinting it might just be a possibility.

 

Stiles shifts, stirs and wakes.

 

”Derek?” He asks groggily, voice sleep-rough, morning-soft. Until he picks up Derek's agitation, through whatever insight their bond gives him to Derek's inner workings.” _What's wrong_?” 

 

Of course he would know, his sleepy body and mind alert in seconds, the legacy of those rough years since Derek's return to Beacon Hills not completely shaken yet, even after they've all survived graduation and college. Even Derek. Stiles takes hold of Derek's hand on his middle, his wedding band clicking against his when he laces their fingers together. 

 

“Derek?”

 

He's been silent for too long. There's an interested stutter in Stiles' heart, not quite panic but more worry than anything. He has to say something, ease Stiles into it, has to start---

 

“I knocked you up.”

 

Words are not his friends right now, the worst sort of blunt ones, without context, spilling from his lips. He hears Stiles heart skip a beat and then climb to a high panicked stutter. Derek hides his face in the crook of Stiles' neck, to try and calm himself through scenting, to hold onto what he still has, until it's---

 

“Say that again?” Stiles' voice is low, cracking, breathless, almost teary. His hand holding Derek's is shaky, his grip tight. “Derek, say that again?” he prompts when Derek doesn't speak for several long breaths of his Mate's pregnant scent filling his mind with happiness, he's almost drunk on it, wants nothing more than to nest, protect and cuddle.

 

Derek swallows, tries to clear his head. “I--- you're the Alpha Mate and... they can... there were stories I was told when I was ---”

 

Stiles isn't suddenly in his grip anymore, but has slipped from their spooning position, pushed Derek down onto his back on the bed, and is straddling his hips, looking down at him. Derek aches at that soft something in his eyes, in the beginning of a hopeful smiles at the corners of his lips, at the hands pressed to his middle, as if to hold in the happiness bursting at the seams. And Stiles smiles.

 

“Do you mean to tell me that, all this time, you've known that we could make a baby together, _our baby_?” His tone tries at hurt but even falls short on exasperated, landing squarely at incredulously happy. Hopeful.

 

“Not...”

 

Stiles waves his hand, as if to brush off anything Derek might think to say. “Never mind. Not important. But what you're saying is that there's a baby in here? Now?” He splays his fingers over his belly, not even rounded yet, won't be for months. His scent is singing joy to Derek, a terrible happy joy and his smile is wide and his eyes are bright. And his voice is shaking.

 

Derek nods. 

 

Stiles draws him up for a kiss, tears in his eyes. “We made a baby,” he whispers into their mingled breath when they come apart, holding onto each other desperately.

 

“You don't...” Derek has to ask, can't really trust his happiness at face value, “...don't mind?”

 

“Mind? Why would I mi--- Oh.” Stiles is still for a moment, then, in Derek's arms, but his heartbeat only stutters a little. “As long as it won't be born like the xenomorph in Alien, I'm cool.”

 

Derek kisses him quiet before he says any more ridiculous things.

 

“You're happy?” He has to ask, after, cupping Stiles' face with his hands, searching his eyes, even as Stiles' heartbeat is only a little out-of-norm quick in his ears and his scent is farthest away from scared as it could get, with just an underlying hint of nervousness. He has to hear the _words._

 

“I'm happy.”

 

And Derek can't but kiss him again, finally satisfied, free to loose himself in their joy and the promises of future. Of a home, and a cub and Stiles. Of happiness.

 


End file.
